


Just pure imagination

by RandomsHouse



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternative Universe - FBI, Depression, Doctor!Blaine, F/F, F/M, FBI Agent Sebastian, Hannibal AU, M/M, Serial Killers, kurt hummel is will graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomsHouse/pseuds/RandomsHouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do we know about the victim?"</p>
<p>"Michael Chang, 25, single, choreographer. The body was found in the second floor of the Hauser & Wirth gallery at 1AM by the security officer. The heart, eyes and tongue are missing from the scene, we think the killer took them. The body was stabbed repeatedly and…"</p>
<p>"Shhh, that is his fiancé."</p>
<p>"Where?"</p>
<p>"There, Asian woman, blue streaked hair. The one crying in the corner."</p>
<p>"Right, well now what?"</p>
<p>"We wait until Hummel is done with his thing"</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>Kurt is Will Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's basically it, Kurt is Will Graham, for those who watched Hannibal. There will be no characters from the show, I'm just using the concept, so the plot will differ from the show, for example, there won't be a Glee character playing Abigail Hobs, but there are Glee characters acting as the FBI team. It's not necessary for you to have watched Hannibal, but it doesn't hurt .
> 
> An important side note: Due to the characteristics of the story, particularly in future chapters, I decided to cut Finn from the story, originally I had a role planned out for him but I think it will be better if I just don't include him.
> 
> So, here´s the first chapter. Please let me know what you think!

"What do we know about the victim?"

"Michael Chang, 25, single, choreographer. The body was found in the second floor of the Hauser & Wirth gallery at 1AM by the security officer. The heart, eyes and tongue are missing from the scene, we think the killer took them. The body was stabbed repeatedly and…"

"Shhh, that is his fiancé."

"Where?"

"There, Asian woman, blue streaked hair. The one crying in the corner."

"Right, well now what?"

"We wait until Hummel is done with his thing"

\-------------------

Sebastian Smythe looked dispassionately at the pile of files that rested on his rather untidy desk. It was already past midnight and, as usual only he and his team remained in the tenth floor of the building. Said team was currently goofing around in the break room, clearly under the impression that Sebastian was completely unfamiliar with their habits, and also deaf.

"Could you keep it down! Or actually do something useful around here!" he shouted after a particularly loud laugh that startled him enough to drop the small pile of papers he had been trying to straighten.

"Sorry boss" Came Santana's unapologetic voice, followed by even more laughter.

"Some agents I got." Sebastian was ready to call it quits for the day, or night if you wanted to be more accurate, when a short flurry of curls stormed into his office.

"There you are! I stood outside of your apartment for a whole hour." An angry Blaine Anderson was an unusual sight; an angry and ungelled Blaine Anderson spelled some kind of disaster. "I told you to leave Kurt out of it!"

Sebastian's team had quieted, and someone, probably Sam, had been nice enough to shut the door and provide a little privacy.

"Calm down Blaine! You didn't tell me to leave Kurt out of it, in fact it was you who told me he could help with the investigation. And that is what he is doing." Seriously, his ex was so dramatic sometimes.

"Yes help, as in consult with you, provide insights or advise. I did not mean that you should drag him to some museum in the middle of the night to look at some grotesque corpse!" He was pacing the room from side to side, clearly having worked himself into some kind of fit, coming close to Sebastian but never to close. Probably afraid of the consequences of punching an FBI agent.

"Look Blaine," for once Sebastian did not look like the seventeen year old that had played heartbreaker with every guy that crossed his path, "the little princess is good at what he does, a man is dead, and there could be more. It is my job to prevent more killings from happening, yes, and I intend to do it. But don't think, not even for one second, that I would be as callous and uncaring as to take some innocent person and throw him in the path of some murderer. Hummel is helping, still if I were to think that the job is too much for him I will be first one to pull him out. I hope you can at least trust me that much."

"I do trust you, Sebastian. It's just that Kurt is not in a very good place right now, hasn't been for a while really, and I don't want you to push him." Anger temporarily gone he was again the sweet guy everyone fell in love with on sight. "He might not be able to realise when he reaches his limit."

Oh great, he was going to cry, Sebastian could easily tell, Blaine's eyes had always had some kind of supernatural glow to them, almost too big for his face, but the way they were glittering just then was a clear warning for the incoming tears.

"Stop, stop, stop. Before you start wailing your tinny yet melodramatic heart out, listen to this." Blaine sniffed only a little offended. "I'm going to meet Hummel in the afternoon, we are going to talk privately before the group meeting, if you think it will make you feel better, you can come too."

He took one look at Blaine's beaming face and added, "As long as you don't try to interfere."

In the next room, three heads were glued to the door not missing a word. At least the blond guy looked mildly regretful.

"I knew he was a pussy underneath."

"Shut it Puckerman, I can´t hear!"

\------------------------

Blaine wandered around Central Park, despairing and cursing his big mouth. He had wanted to help, he always wanted to help except, this time, for this victim, he hadn't been enough. Sebastian's job was fascinating, but sometimes his cases were more than he could stomach, the kind of cases that left him wide eyed in the middle of the night, jumping at every little sound, double checking the shadows. Sometimes it made him doubt his ability on his field.

Blaine had surprised himself one day several years before when he had decided, with very little forethought to switch mayors, from musical theatre to psychology. He loved music, still did, but there was something about being able to help people, using his past experiences and natural ability to empathize to make a difference in someone's life, he knew first hand just how important it was to have someone willing to listen to your problems. Seeing a psychologist had helped him greatly during his teenage years. If he was completely honest, he would have to say it had saved his life.

The path had not been easy; he was mostly unaccustomed to long hours of study and books that seemed to never reach an end, yet through a lot of effort and perseverance he had succeeded. His degree brought him great satisfaction, and what seemed more important, it had led him to Kurt.

Kurt, the sweet and talented non-psychiatrist, he had so carelessly tossed in the middle of a dangerous investigation. And just because he had wanted to help an old friend.

\--------------

The office that was to host the meeting was typically FBI, white, clean and efficient. Not even a painting hanging, not a chair out of place. Kurt Hummel, who was about to be introduced to the rest of the team, found it extremely unimaginative, as were most of the individuals that populated the building, if that wasn't the case he would not be needed in the first place. The only color that stood out in the room was red, from Kurt's jacket, a pen that had been discarded by Sebastian and the pictures. At least a dozen of pictures that clearly depicted the remains of one Mike Chang, as his girlfriend insisted they called him, he had hated Michael, she informed them in between tears.

The scene had been gruesome, the body splayed in all the right angles, an almost clinical eye to detail. All of the information had been neatly detailed in the report Kurt had written, in the hopes of avoiding the meeting all together, which proved to be an unsuccessful endeavor.

He sighed tiredly, and Sebastian stared at him clearly annoyed, unsurprising really, Kurt supposed leading an FBI team of agents who specialized solely in serial killers and grisly cases was bound to leave a person in a state of perpetual discomfort. At least Blaine would arrive soon. Less than a minute later, he did.

The curly haired man practically bounded towards Kurt and enveloped him in a hug. Completely sidestepping Sebastian and causing amusement in the three figures that followed him into the room.

By the time Blaine and Kurt had separated and taken their seats several more faces had entered the room.

"Okay" Sebastian stood huffing slightly. Whether it was out of anger to everyone in the room or simply to draw everyone's attention to himself, it was impossible to tell. "First we are going to introduce some new members to the team and then we'll begin."

Several heads nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Santana Lopez, Noah Puckerman and Sam Evans, this is Agent William Schuester, he just transferred from Washington and will be assisting during this case, I don't have time for hellos, greet each other on your own time!" He added when it looked like William was considering shaking hands. "Then we have Dr Kitty Wilde, she is a forensics specialist in training and will be working with us from now on."

"Cool, now we can have a foursome." Noah "Puck" Puckerman winked scandalously at Kitty, she didn't look very impressed.

"And finally, this is Kurt Hummel, he is going to be consulting for us, he is a specialist in behavioral analysis and criminal profiling. Ah! and this is Blaine, please ignore his presence, it should pretty simple as he doesn't take much room."

Blaine blushed bright red while Santana and Puck cackled. Kurt simply patted his hand in awkward comfort.

"So, let's begin." Like a well-oiled machine, each agent took their place, Puck arranged the files, each folder filled with their pictures of the case, Santana stood by the board and Sam brought some diagrams.

"The victim was Michael Chang, 25 years old, he was a choreographer just starting to make a name for himself in the theatre field. He was engaged to Tina Cohen-Chang, the body was found in the gallery where her exhibit was to take place. No siblings, we've already contacted his parents and they will by flying in tonight, Evans is going to be questioning him after they see the body." Santana sat down and smoothly, Puck took over.

"The body was badly disfigured as you can see. Some organs are missing; we believe took them as memento. The eyes were surgically removed as well as the tongue and heart. Dr Wilde's report indicated it was done post mortem." He waited a second until Kitty took her cue.

"Oh!" She scrambled briefly for her report, clearly not expecting to be called so soon "Right...I was able to determine the cause of death, it was due to several stab wounds to the abdomen, leaver and , though the body also exhibited signs of trauma to the head, likely due to the use of a blunt object. The organs were removed with a sharp blade, might be a scalpel, post mortem and… that's all."

"Very good Kitty, keep it up", Kurt sighed at Sebastian, it was clear someone had complained about his leadership skills in the past, his efforts at being a supportive boss were so fake and transparent it was shocking Kitty had not been insulted by them. Blaine squeezed his hand gently, either having the same idea or simply out of reflex, he had always been a very tactile person, especially when facing difficult situations.

Sam Evans took a manila folder and started handing out several sheets of paper to everyone present, he hesitated when he reached Blaine, the boss hadn't mentioned him so he hadn't been counted when making the copies, luckily Blaine saved him the trouble. "I'll share with Kurt, thanks!"

"Right, well, the body was found at 1 AM Wednesday by a security guard in the Hauser & Wirth gallery, he was last seen by his girlfriend Ms. Cohen Chang at 9PM approximately, they had dinner and left separately. Mr. Chang was supposed to go to his studio to pick up a script but according to the security guard at the studio he never made it there. We are trying to retrace his steps, but we believe tomorrow we will be speaking to his co-workers." Sam finished with a short layout of the gallery and possible ways the killer could have entered and exited.

As the pictures of the deceased Mike Chang circled the table most of those present began to feel less than comfortable, a small knot forming in their stomachs and a void right about the middle of their chests, Blaine went as far as sitting extra straight in order to press his back against the chair and maybe that way stop the uncomfortable shivers he felt. Only two remained unperturbed, Kitty because though she was the youngest in the room, she had gone into forensics for a reason and Kurt, who had seen the body first hand and had reconstructed a pretty clear visualization of how the murder had taken place, every gory detail firmly imprinted on his brain a result of a rare combination of empathy and pure imagination. Such was the reason he was in the meeting in the first place, his mind's rotten skill, the very thing that made him a renown criminal psychiatrist despite the fact he hadn't managed to ever complete his degree.

Sebastian observed his team, plus Blaine, and decided it was time to let the last person speak, he had decided early on that Schuester would not be a very active part of the investigation, at least until he had managed to find out exactly why he had been transferred so suddenly. "Hummel, care to add something?"

Followed by a very reluctant, "Yes." Kurt looked terribly uncomfortable and chose to stay seated, as if that could somehow remove some attention from him.

"The killer is someone who knew the victim," he fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him; eye contact would only make things harder. "Possibly a colleague, or one the actors he was working with. It was done in anger, a crime of passion that was turned into something more artistic."

"Artistic?" Schuester interrupted, earning him a glare from Sebastian and an apathetic stare from Kurt.

"Yes, the killing itself was sudden and unplanned, but the placement of the body was careful, the way it was arranged, it was as if they tried to turn the body into something more than just a corpse. But, and this is important, it wasn't about Mike Chang, the display I mean, it was about the killer, and about the gallery where he was found. For the killer the corpse was no longer a person, just an object for him to use at will, for a purpose. I think the girlfriend will be able to provide more information, it may be an attack against both of them even if there was only one victim."

"Fiancé." Blaine was suddenly at the receiving end of seven stares. "I know Tina, we went to school together and we stayed in touch. They were going to marry, she told me a couple of weeks ago, one person is dead, yes. But Mike was not the only victim."

That bit of information was the final drop to make an upsetting case all the more depressing, so Sebastian decided to wrap things up for the time being.

Finally it was decided that Santana and Puck would speak to the people at the dance studio, Sam, who was the kindest of Sebastian's men, and woman, would meet the parents and Sebastian would escort Kurt to speak to Tina, Blaine insisted to be present, because Tina was his friend, or so he said. Really, Sebastian was sure that it had more to do with a desire to be near Kurt and a lack of trust in his ability to keep him safe. Ridiculous.

\------------------

Once again, Blaine was wandering aimlessly around Central Park, but his mood was significantly improved from the day before.

"I'm glad you came." He looked at Kurt, big honey eyes reflecting the glow from the streetlights, hand holding Kurt's tightly.

"Please Blaine, don't. I know you feel guilty; I know you think I'm some kind of basket case that can't handle the slightest…" Suddenly Kurt was turned around and found himself facing a very upset Blaine.

"Don't! I would never think that about you, hell, Kurt, you of all people should be able to see that. I worry, yes. But I always worry, about you and about everyone." They walked towards an empty bench and sat down facing a fountain; the park was unusually crowded, probably due to the incoming spring and the warmer weather. It felt cheerful and lively and Blaine wanted to run around like a small child. He looked at Kurt sadly, realizing that for all of his empathy; it was one urge his friend would never feel.

"I worry about you, I know you haven't recovered from your father loss and… well, I feel like I should have been there for you some more." At which point Kurt let out a little laugh, small, but the most beautiful sound Blaine had heard.

"You mean crashing my apartment for two months and monitoring all of my meals wasn't enough? What about helping me make the arrangements, or calling my boss at college or answering all my mails to the students? You think dumping everything in your life for me wasn't enough?"

"It's never enough." The curly haired man was as sad as Kurt had ever seen him. He thought about calling Sebastian, telling him to keep Blaine away from the case, thought about telling Sebastian he would be staying away. Then he searched his pockets for his wallet.

"Come on, let's go eat. I'm hungry". The following day they would be talking to the grieving girlfriend and they would need all of their energy.


	2. Chapter 2

Bathed by warm candle light in her Upper East side apartment, Quinn Fabray found herself face down on her bed, hands cuffed behind her back and three enraged men standing over her. She smirked to herself, life had never been so good.

**************************

"So, how are we doing this?" Blaine was, as was agreed, tagging along to the meeting with Tina, who had secluded herself in the apartment she had shared with Mike.

"I will be asking the questions, Kurt will observe quietly and come up with brilliant observations and you will sit also quietly and try to use those big puppy eyes of yours to their full comforting capability." Kurt smiled, mildly amused, Sebastian was kind of an ass but his sharp tongue was always enjoyable, especially when the insults weren't directed at him. Though he did feel bad for Blaine since he tended to take everything to heart. He assumed it was one of the reasons the relationship between Blaine and Sebastian hadn't worked out, a strange relationship if he said so himself, then again, his own love life was nothing to write about, virtually inexistent if one didn't count one night stands and holding hands with Blaine on occasions. Privately, he sometimes decided that holding hands did count in the relationship spectrum. Other times he realized that his interactions to other people tended to depend on their degree of insanity and the number of corpses they have left in their wake. Not an encouraging thought.

"Maybe I should talk." Of course Blaine would say that, Kurt couldn't understand how Sebastian would even find it in himself to be surprised, which he was given his current expression. Or maybe his face was aiming to express his indignation at Blaine's disregard of his little speech. Both options were equally likely. "I mean," Blaine hurried an explanation, "Tina is my friend and, let's face it, you are normally not the most sympathetic person, and Kurt doesn't really know how to act around people either." Wow, for a sweet guy he could certainly be terribly rude at times.

"Mhh, didn't realize you knew how to be rude and offensive."

"Sorry Sebastian, that's not how I meant for it to sound". Yep, Kurt wandered a few steps away from them, if he and Sebastian were synchronized enough that one could voice the other's thoughts then they were definitely spending too much time together, that usually just happened with Blaine. It had been a very confusing week.

The argument continued as the three walked the two blocks that separated the parking place from the residential building where they would meet Tina Cohen-Chang, Kurt was quite dreading the experience. Blaine was right, he barely knew how to act around people on regular occasions, much less one as delicate as this, he was bound to come off as an insensitive jerk even by Sebastian's standards. By the time they reached the elevator, it was decided once again that Sebastian would do the talking and Blaine and Kurt were to remain quiet. It lasted for about a minute, exactly the time it took Tina to buzz them in and for Blaine to, not very subtly, move Sebastian a side.

"Tina." And then they were hugging. Kurt couldn't even bother himself with an eye roll.

"How are you doing?" They were sitting in her living room, a large, warmly furnished space, pieces of twisted metal and funny paintings were scattered everywhere. Kurt supposed they were her works, or her friends, it was hard to tell, there wasn't a signature style he could pinpoint. Then again, that yellow ball on the corner might just be a piece of trash rather a work of art and he was just trying too hard to make sense of it.

Tina explained, among sobs, that the arrangement for the funeral couldn't be made until the body was released from custody, while the autopsy had been completed, Kitty kept asking Sebastian for more time with the body, probably afraid of having overlooked something, and he had obliged simply because he knew that Mike´s parents would end up making the arrangements and they hadn't arrived yet. He had spoken to them briefly and was informed that a very traditional ceremony was to take place. Kurt knew about it simply because he had been standing in the office while the conversation took place, so quietly that Sebastian forgot he had company and didn't turn off the speaker.

"I can´t think of anyone who would want to hurt him. His coworkers loved him, he was so kind and caring, everyone loved him." Blaine was making tea, incapable of staying still. Tina, and Mike to a lesser extent, had been his friends for years, that something like this had happened to them was beyond belief. Mike was Tina's rock, the thing that kept her together when she had failed some classes at NYU, until finally she had dropped out, just a couple of months after Blaine switched mayors, and started taking art classes. Mike stood by her side every step of the way, the scariest part for Tine, Blaine imagined, wouldn't be the fact that she might be the next victim but that no matter what happened, Mike wouldn't be there to support her.

"Ms. Cohen Chang, we understand that this is a very difficult moment for you. But it is important that you really think about this, maybe there was some kind of difficulty or argument going on at work and he just didn't want to worry you. Any changes in his routine might be relevant, even if it does not seem like much." The tone of voice was the perfect mix of professional and caring and it would have been believable had Blaine not been the person who helped Sebastian rehearse it. At least, the curly haired man reasoned, he was bothering with the sympathetic voice, he supposed Kurt was right and Sebastian had received some kind of reprimand regarding his treatment of others. As long as Tina didn't feel uncomfortable he'd be happy. Or as happy as anyone could be given the circumstances. "Have you seen anyone suspicious around your house, or received any strange phone calls?"

"No, no, no! I told you! Mike would have told me, we told each other everything…"Whatever else she was saying got lost in the sobs that followed. Blaine left his seat on the couch and moved to kneel next to Tina's chair.

"Ms. Cohen Chang." It was amusing how much Sebastian startled at the sound of Kurt voice, "I understand how much this loss affects you so now you have to understand where we are coming from. I believe that the killer is not done, for whatever reason your boyfriend was the first victim but he won't be the only one. He or she is a highly egotistical person that craves the attention they can receive from the killings, more people will die, you might die, if you don't manage to tell us something of use, so really, anything you…" The slap he received, while unpleasant, had not been at all unexpected. Blaine stood quickly from where he had landed after Tina shoved him in her rush to reach Kurt and grabbed her by the elbow as she dissolved in more sobs; she curled around Blaine murmuring insults against his chest, her tears staining his cream vest. Sebastian stayed in his place on the couch, silently lamenting people's inability to follow his orders.

***************************

Ghastly discovery in art gallery

Quinn Fabray

Last Wednesday, the Hauser & Wirth gallery displayed more than pieces of art. Michael Chang, a local dance instructor, was found dead and mutilated in the first floor, place that had been reserved for his girlfriend's exhibit.

According to our sources the victim's heart was removed, along with his eyes which the investigators believe were kept by the killer as souvenirs.

Michael Chang was 25 years old and engaged to Tina Cohen Chang, it is presumed he was taken from the studio where he worked Tuesday night, although his coworkers can't attest to his presence there. The FBI agent leading the investigation, Sebastian Smythe, 28, has not made much progress regarding the case, however, it is one of the working theories that the attack may not have been directed against Mike Chang, as he preferred to be called, but against his fiancée, which would explain why the body was found in the art gallery.

Additionally, it would seem the FBI expects more murders to occur, Kurt Hummel was reported to have been at the scene. Mr. Hummel, has assisted in the past during murder investigations, specializing particularly in serial killings, as a profiler. See more.

*********************

The computer whirred softly from its position on the coffee table while the room occupants watched it with varying degrees of anger. They were in Kurt's apartment, a spacious loft located on a fifth floor, comfortably furnished and designed for practicality. Kurt would never openly say it, but his only pastime was interior decorating, a fact only he and Blaine knew, Blaine's apartment had been decorated to resemble an old Victorian house, large paintings and soft leather couches.

Kurt had chosen a more modern and sleek style for his own home, with plenty of room for the large bookshelves he was constantly stocking and very little decorations. The only touch of color was an old photo featuring a family of three.

"So, who is she?" Kurt could remember a time of his life when he had enjoyed other's people attention, craved it even. He remembered dance lessons and end of the year recitals; he remembered singing with the school choir and even a small trophy from a singing competition. Slowly he had started to avoid those situations, people were lenient when he was a small child, but eventually the little boy pirouetting around the dancing studio stopped being cute, eventually it became a source of "concern", something his parents should keep an eye on because, good boys didn't dance, didn't enjoy singing, good boys wanted to play outside with other boys, they liked sports and running and getting dirty, and maybe little Kurt shouldn't be allowed to dance with little girls, for his own good.

His parents never bought into that, much to everyone's surprise, they always answered that if he wanted to dance, sing and play dress up with his Power Rangers then he could. So, for a while, he continued as he had, and he would have kept going for the rest of his life, perhaps, if he hadn't become so apt at sensing what other people thought.

Just a twitch in the face and Kurt could feel someone dislike as clearly as if they had yelled obscenities at him, and it was likely that he could have ignored it if it had been one person or two. But he saw it everywhere. His classmate's parents, his teachers, even his dance instructors, he saw their true thoughts in between compliments and smiles.

He told his father, a few weeks after his mother's funeral, "Miss Calloway doesn't like me.", he said like, because at the age of nine he couldn't quite grasp the word hate, not really, though it was the most accurate one, and he was told that it was not truth, his instructor liked him, she liked al of her students.

"It's just your imagination Kurt." Burt said.

But it wasn't.

So he stopped, gradually, first ballet, then singing and then dropped out the choir. He joined the debate team, facts delivered with extreme coldness and objectivity, and the literary club, a great skill for character development, according to the coordinating teacher, and if Burt found it odd he didn't comment. His father simply stood behind him, until he no longer could.

Kurt Hummel did not like people's attention yet thanks to one Quinn Fabray and her gory blog, he had it. And he knew that Sebastian was somehow to blame.

****************************

Two hours after the article had been posted three newspapers had picked up the story along with the evening news. Quinn Fabray had refused interviews and simply continued to write his exposé on Kurt Hummel

Sebastian Smythe was shouting away at his second in command in his office at the Bureau while mentally preparing himself for Hummel's reaction when he found out about the article.

Blaine, who had stopped by the office to pick up Sebastian and head over to Kurt's for some emergency meeting the agent had called, only overheard the words "stupid", "should arrest you" and "so goddamn stupid", clearly repeated for good measure.

He decided he might as well wait in the car.

****************************

Agent Lopez stood facing her infuriated boss, for once in her life she was completely out of words. Which was okay, Sebastian could speak for the both of them.

"Now, I'm not going to arrest you for divulging confidential information and I am not going to take a disciplinary action against you, though I should! I'm not even going to report you to my superiors, and I hope you realize that they know the leak came from my team and therefore know that I'm covering for one of you." Sebastian was done yelling having hurt his throat five minutes prior, " I just want you to explain what in the hell were you thinking, because I could expect something like this from Sam or even Puck, but I thought that at least you had more sense."

What followed was a borderline pornographic description of one drunken hook up and an attractive blonde who, as Santana said, seemed to get off on her tales of murder and corpses. She hadn't recognized the reporter, Quinn hadn't identified herself and Santana hadn't mentioned that she was FBI. It was an embarrassing error in judgment spiced with a very sexy night.

"I'm sorry"

"You should be." Sebastian sat behind his desk and motioned for Santana to take a seat as well. As usual the entire floor was empty, he decided he could be a kind boss and keep the conversation private, Sam and Puck had been sent away, they surely suspected where the leak had come from, he'd been surprised that they had agreed to leave so easily rather than stay and help Santana face the fire.

"You should suspend me." She looked directly to his eyes, expression guilty and resigned.

"I told you, I'm not going to take disciplinary actions."

"Because then your bosses would know it was me who talked." Really? That's what she thought of him? He considered suspending her just for that but settled on a reproachful look.

"No," he stood and wandered to the left side of his office where the large windows let the nighttime glow in, looking down he imagined he could recognize Blaine's car. Soon he would have to get in and travel to Kurt's apartment and try to explain that he had ruined his calm, unassuming life. "I won't punish you, because it's not really your fault."

****************************

"Quinn is a journalist, as you might already imagine. Not a serious one, not particularly respected among her peers, but I can assure you she is one of the best. She can wriggle information out of anyone, and really, there is nothing she won't do to get a story." Like seduce one of his agents.

Blaine and Sebastian had arrived at Kurt's close to midnight, armed with Chinese food and sweet bread, Blaine's idea clearly, chosen simply because Kurt liked it and there wasn't a lot of food that Kurt actually liked. Also, they were about to deliver what promised to be very unpleasant news.

Said Kurt simply smiled and accepted the offering, he supposed it was time to eat after all, he hadn't really had lunch yet and it was rather late.

After Sebastian told them about the blog he had lost whatever appetite he had left. They had moved to the kitchen after reading the article, the first of a series according to Ms. Fabray, so that Blaine could reheat the food.

"Why are you so sure she will fixate on me?" Kurt was grasping at straws and he knew it. It was clear, at least to him, that he was the most controversial element of the investigation. A profiler with an empathic ability to get in the head of the killers, a failed psychiatrist who completed his studies with honors at the age of 22 but was declared to unstable to practice with actual patients and was instead given a position in the university as a teacher's assistant. Much more interesting than a dead choreographer.

"She will because all she cares about is selling stories, getting hired by a serious newspaper. Publishing a book or writing a movie, the fuck I know! All I care about… all that we should care about is that she won't let this story go. Not now that she's finally getting attention." He was about to slam his fist on the table for emphasis when Blaine started serving the dishes, some kind of pork flavored goo he couldn't distinguish.

Kurt sat reluctantly, and took a small bite, if his stomach didn't rebel within ten minutes he would continue to eat. "Can you do something? It was an ongoing investigation, can you charge her with obstruction? Get some court order to shut her up…" At the lack of response he realized that yes, he could and chose not to. He wished he knew the story behind that. "Thanks Blaine, it looks great." A bad mood was no excuse to be rude.

Blaine smiled briefly before becoming reacquaintanced with his perpetually concerned frown.

"Is she right?"

"About?"

"About the serial killer. Is she right or is she just trying to make the story more interesting? You never spoke about a serial killer." Kurt left Blaine to his questions and exited his kitchen, he didn't want Blaine to worry more than he had to, more than he already did… about him, about Tina, he even worried about Sebastian, although those concerns were never broached out loud, the FBI agent would be terribly annoyed, he just worried about everyone. Kurt simply wished he didn't need that concern, but he had spent so much time depending on his father, on his constant love and support and Blaine took that role so easily when Kurt found himself lacking.

It was very likely that there would be another corpse, as was written on the report he had presented after his first assessment.

"Kurt! You didn't finish your dinner." Came from the kitchen followed by a long overly loud sigh from Sebastian.

"I had forgotten you were such a mother hen, I'm surprised you don't keep Kurt hidden away from the big bad world."

"Don't be such an ass, Sebastian!" Kurt stopped half way into the kitchen, an angry Blaine was never a pleasant experience. "Let's not forget that this mess is your fault! You may not remember but you've already told me about Quinn, I know that this all thing is about you and whatever petty fight you have going on with her! You promised me…" Whatever Blaine was about to start ranting about was put on hold as Sebastian cellphone started ringing.

Kurt took the opportunity to sit back on his chair and chew a few mouthfuls of pork while Blaine took a sip of water, clearly trying to regain his composure. Sebastian's face after the conversation ended and put his phone away told them everything they needed to know. Blaine, pale and shaky, asked the question.

"Another murder?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while but here's the next chapter! Warning, it gets a bit gory from now own, so read with caution and please tell me what you think.

The snug carpet swallowed all sound from their footsteps, and had Sebastian been in a different mood he would have taken a minute to appreciate the feel of stepping on what appeared to be a little cloud, as it was he couldn't give it a lot of thought, the woman cackling away on the large king size bed was taking all of his attention.

"You think this is funny?" Puck was stalking around the bed like an enraged canine, unlikely to actually get aggressive but loud enough to make it seem like a valid threat. The perfect combination for an FBI agent. It was Puck's favorite part, Sebastian was certain of this, and it was also the only reason he had allowed his agent to completely disregard dress code, or more accurately hair style code, and keep his ridiculous Mohawk. The hairstyle added to his threatening look, even if, in Sebastian's opinion, he looked more like a highschool hooligan than a law enforcer.

"Well… I don't know if funny is the correct word. Cute, I would say." Quinn Fabray had never been one to be intimidated, her file said as much, whether it was surviving senior year pregnant in conservative Texas, giving said child for adoption or graduating Yale early with honors, she did it all with style and poise. Seducing an FBI agent to obtain confidential information had not been an exception.

"What you did is a federal crime. Ms. Fabray, I could make sure you spend quite a bit of time in prison for this." Unable to resist himself, Sebastian swayed his way to the bed with enough hip rotation to swing his coat away from his body and leave his gun in plain sight. An old school move that seemed to impress Quinn almost as much as Puck's angry face had, that is to say not at all.

Why couldn't borderline sociopaths be more agreeable? And why was he saddled with three agents so willing to spill classified information to the first pair of legs that crossed their path? regardless of how attractive those legs may be. Sebastian might be gay, but he could stay appreciate attractiveness even if it came in woman form.

Sebastian had already handcuffed her and tossed her none too gently on the bed, dramatic little bounce and everything, yet Quinn looked as comfortable as if she was on her couch sipping some of her very expensive wine, it was infuriating. He and his team were already wasting precious time here and that damn woman refused to cooperate. Because, yes, Santana had messed up big time, but the agent was not stupid, Sebastian was sure that Quinn had already known something about the killings, otherwise, how could she have known to seduce Santana? And more importantly, why had she fixated on Hummel? Santana had sworn she hadn't mentioned Kurt, and he believed her, mainly because she wouldn't confess half of her crime but also because he was beginning to suspect that she had a soft spot for him. Surprising really, he hadn't been aware she had a soft spot for anyone.

"Who set you on this story Miss Fabray?" He used his smoothest FBI voice, knowing it was not going to work.

"I'm a freelance journalist, you know that. If I write something it's because I want to do it, not because someone "set me" on a story." Quinn scrambled a bit on the bed trying to straighten herself into a more comfortable position. Said position happened to reveal a few more inches of cleavage, clearly for Puck's and Sam's benefit. "So, more enemies that you can keep track of? Must be your charming personality and charismatic attitude."

Time was ticking away, he could feel it, they would have to leave soon.

"Don´t waste my time. I expect better from such a respectable individual. Not good enough for The Times but maybe, if you were to get your hands on a juicy piece you just might make it out of your cheap blog and into something more serious." Quinn only allowed herself a small frown in response. "That's it, isn't it? Your Gory website is not enough fame anymore? Or you got tired of being the punch line of every joke."

"Uh, boss?" Sam, who until that point had remained in the sidelines, interrupted, he was standing so close that Sebastian almost tripped over his feet when turning to look at him. "Santana is calling," softly so Quinn wouldn't hear "some British dude is at the scene. He's talking to Hummel."

There were many reasons a crime scene could be compromised, bad police work, intentional coverage, bad weather conditions, they were part of everyday life for the law enforcers and investigation teams, however, some British guy sniffing around and pestering his consultant was just to the wrong side of "more than Sebastian can stomach in one night".

A soft mocking voice came from the bed, as Quinn stood up from the bed. "You should go Agent Smyth, as I understand you have a corpse decomposing and an unsupervised consultant. You shouldn't leave Hummel wander alone, who knows what could happen?"

*************

The stairway leading to the apartment had been empty, at four o'clock in the afternoon the building residents had been either at work, school or simply conveniently out of the way, luckily it was a cheap neighborhood so there hadn't been any security at the door, cameras were completely out of the question.

Reaching the end of the deserted hallway he counted the doors, Kurt felt around his left pocket for the lock pick, a small silver brooch, and approached the door.

A soft click, so soft that even Kurt almost missed it and he was inside. The two room apartment was very tidy considering only two males inhabited it, except for a few giveaways, such as the pile of dirty dishes and the old "Extreme Sports" magazine carelessly thrown by the coffee table, not to mention the bag of smelly gym clothes. There was no wall to separate the kitchen from the living room, so Kurt was able to make a quick scan of the apartment. The roommate was supposed to stay out all day, but there was always the odd chance that he might return early.

The couch, a lovely cream shade, newer that any other piece of furniture in the room served as a good hideout when the door opened again, this time to let a tall, young man in. Clearly back from the supermarket Ryder, that was his name, wandered into the kitchen and only had time to put away the milk and cheese before Kurt was on him. His mark was taller and stronger than him, so Kurt had to resort to a speedy ambush and quick handwork, he crawled out of his hiding place and jumped on Ryder just as he was turning away from the fridge.

His brooch, a sharp silver metal shaped as a leaf did more than just open doors, if pressed with enough force it could cut meat like it was butter.

"First I stab near the stomach, right below the ribs and the diaphragm," Kurt retold calmly while twisting his wrist; a warm wet felling enveloped his right arm. "Not a lethal wound but enough to temporarily immobilize the target, a painful wound."

The coffee table toppled over when Ryder tried to back away from Kurt and swing at him unsuccessfully, the lamp crashing to the floor in a spray of ceramic. He waved his arms gracelessly around and floundered a bit until he reached the desk all the way to other side of the room, uneven droplets of blood following his way. He closed his hand around the first thing he could find and hurled it at Kurt's head, a copy of some pistol technical manual.

"The victim tries to slow my attack," he casually ducks to the side as the book sails past his head, "but he is already weakening." Ryder, to busy bleeding out to hear Kurt's warning, picked up another book; it slipped out of his bloodied hand and clattered to the floor noisily, red finger marks all over the cover. Just one second later and Kurt was on him again. "The blade sinks into the neck, severing the jugular." He stared at Ryder's panicked face for once second before dropping his body to the floor. "I don´t wait until he is dead."

Kurt shoved the upturned coffee table to the side and spread Ryder in that space, back propped against the table legs, as if he was casually resting, he arranged his arms, one hooked over the table's flat surface, the other bent over his lap, Kurt pressed a rose to his left palm, freshly bloomed. He had kept it safe in his breast pocket. The bleeding man tried to wriggle in place and got a warning kick for his troubles. Kurt knelt beside him, "I now open his mouth to take what is mine." He grabbed Ryder's tongue firmly before giving it a strong pull and pressing the bloodied blade against it. "This is my design." A hot gush of liquid stained his neck and lower side of his face.

From a haze of red and black another voice interrupted his story.

"Hummel, you done?" Santana wandered into view to find Hummel kneeling by the cool corpse, arms extended and touching its face lightly, "we need to start processing the scene, and we have company." Before she was done talking a man Kurt had never seen before stepped in front of him, if he blinked he could still see Ryder's panicked face superimposed to the stranger's, he could still hear his final gasping breaths over Santana's voice.

After what seemed forever he managed to put himself together. "What… ? I told you not to interrupt me until I was done."

***************

After several speeding violations that would have left him indebted with fines had he not been an officer of the law, Sebastian arrived at the scene with two vaguely green agents in tow. He was decidedly surprised by what he found there. The officers were pacing around the room like ants trapped under and upturned glass, every now and then one of them would give Hummel a suspicious side glance. He supposed it was the first time some of them had seen Kurt in action, he remembered being both horrified and fascinated the first time he had witnessed the pale man vanish, leaving only the shadow of some murderer occupying his body. Still, given the way they were behaving this kill must have been particularly disturbing, or perhaps they were overly sensitive and plain overreacting. Blaine seemed to think so; he kept splitting his glares between the drifting agents and some blond stranger who was clearly the British interloper.

And that was the really strange part, the intruder was not only wearing some ridiculous tweed jacket, seriously tweed? who was that guy?, he was also engaging Hummel in conversation and, for once, the shorter man didn't look like he wanted to curl up into a ball at the thought of interacting with another human being. He actually looked pleased. Terribly disturbing.

"López!" Santana materialized next to him within seconds, eyes glued to the stranger next to Kurt.

"His name is Adam Crawford, Interpol. He will be assisting with the investigation." Seeing Sebastian mutinous expression she added, "It is not optional."

A small sized mass of unhappiness made a beeline for the FBI agent. "Who is he? I didn't know you'd asked for another agency's help." The reproach was distinct in his voice.

"That's because I didn't. Wait here Blaine"

*************************

More often than not, Kurt would spend approximately fifteen hours by himself for every hour he spent with another person, Blaine and his father being the only exceptions to the rule. It wasn't often that he found people who didn't exhaust him, in twenty-four years of life he had found a grand total of two, and one of them was now dead.

Adam Crawford, or so he said, though his badge seemed to verify his story, was an Interpol officer specialized in ritualized murders and also a distant cousin of one Cassandra July, who just happened to be the director of the FBI's New York branch, and Sebastian's boss by extension. Crazy world. Apparently he had been in town doing some sightseeing or whatever it was that tourists did in NY; Kurt had tried that once during his first year in the city and the enormous mass of people had sent him running for the safety of his apartment after less than five minutes; when he'd read the most fascinating blog article by Ms. Quinn Fabray. So Adam had called his cousin, strings were pulled and all of the sudden the team had gained a new member. Kurt predicted that Sebastian fit would be stuff of legends.

It was plain that Adam understood people in general and knew how to speak to them; he had the uncanny ability to put someone almost immediately at ease, it felt a lot like the first times he spoke to Blaine, a bit unnerving but not at all unpleasant. Something he could eventually get used to and while it was clear he was trying a bit too hard to get Kurt to like him he also managed to say all the right things. And he sounded very interested in what Kurt would have to say in regards to Adam's old cases.

"I cannot remember hearing about anyone quite like you." The man smiled looking a bit doubtful, "we have quite a few consultants, though it is unusual to take them to the field." Kurt wouldn't be offended if Adam assumed he wouldn't be there because the scenes were too gruesome. The consultant had enough self-awareness to realize that a normal person, basically someone who wasn't him, would hate to be so close to a corpse and would be terribly traumatize to have in their minds the images Kurt had in his. Blaine was of the same opinion but had always been too polite to make comments about it.

Adam Crawford shuffled a little and shoved his hands in his pockets, tiny smile still in place. "I was really looking forward to seeing you in action, it was enlightening."

Kurt surprised himself by smiling back, surrounded by so many distrustful strangers a little understanding and honest curiosity were soothing. "I usually prefer to be alone for that part, but Santana insisted and, well… she insisted quite forcefully." Truthfully she had threatened with the removal of some very particular body part, not ones that he used often but important nevertheless. Really, he could take care of himself, Sebastian didn't need to set his toughs on him. "I don't know how you managed to get pass her. I believe you made a lifetime enemy there."

Whatever Adam was going to say was promptly interrupted by Sebastian's arrival.

"Hummel, if you are done you can go home now, and please take you lapdog with you." And that was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one. Five minutes later he was in the backseat of a cab with Blaine, wide eyed and upset, by his side. He hoped Sebastian wouldn't scare Adam away, he was looking forward to speaking to him again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while but here it is!  
> Small warning for offensive language ahead.   
> As always, please let me know what you think.

There are times when Blaine hoped life was a sit-con, all fun gags and ethereal laughter at the right moments. What he really wanted though, was the organized timing of sit-cons, no character had ever spoken over the other’s voice, and mainly, no matter what happened, the previous scene always ended seconds before the other began. Life wasn’t like that.

Growing up, he had realized that people would never just stop what they were doing and listen to him, he had to make them. So he was loud, and he was colourful; he developed a huge personality that made up for his small size. It was a lesson that his brother taught him, Cooper, who would take up most of whatever room he happened to grace with his presence simply by smiling, who never meant to, yet still managed to be the light in their parents lives regardless of how loud or bright his little brother became; Blaine could be like that too, right? It was why he had chosen to go into the performing field, if he placed himself on a stage in front of hundreds of eyes, they would have no choice but to pay attention. He’d thought so. Too bad that when he finally had the opportunity, a junior year play to celebrate his college's brand new semester, he had found himself disappointed, almost as empty as he had been before performing. 

Assisting his co-lead through her stage-fright-induced panic attack though, that had been unexpectedly rewarding. And still not enough, regardless of how grateful Tina had been at the time, after she had recovered of course. Blaine felt momentarily fulfilled, he found himself desperate to extend that period of satisfaction.

Over his life, Blaine had come to several realizations, the main one was that he was a deeply flawed individual; he would be the first to admit it, while Kurt would probably be the first to deny it. Blaine could confess that he had been terribly self-centered during his formative years and become even more so when he hit his teens, particularly after Cooper had left the family home and their parents, at last, had no other son but him to devote their attention. 

Blaine had worked under the assumption that his voice was to be heard over the others and by extension, so should his opinions. 

It had taken him over twenty years of his life to finally move the spotlight from himself to others, and it was only then that he had decided to switch mayors. The most important decision of his life, really, one that almost broken his heart. Performing had been everything to him, until he realized it wasn't what he needed, that is. 

It was an extensive journey, a terribly satisfying one too, at age 26 he had, for the first time, found himself proud of who he was and what he did. Blaine finally managed to help people for the sake of helping rather than for the thrill he got at being thanked, it was grand. 

Later on Kurt would go on a long rant explaining in extreme detail that humans are selfish and the desire to be held in good regards is as natural as breathing, so Blaine shouldn’t feel anymore guilty for that as he did for blinking and needing to eat. Despite his friend’s opinion, Blaine insisted on attributing it to personal growth. 

Finally pottering around the kitchen, his kitchen for a change, he felt like he had spent weeks at Kurt’s apartment in fact it had been less than three days, he contemplated sit-cons again, and wished that a simple laughter was enough to fix a problem. 

Never had he hated Sebastian as he did at that moment. Sebastian and his damn cases, his stupid rules and his personal enemies. Meanwhile Kurt was pacing his living room furiously, but considerably calmer than he had been earlier, and Blaine’s eyes were still half blinded from the journalists flashes.  
****  
There was a reason why Blaine, usually so sensible and level headed was so upset, and it was due to the events that had taken place earlier that night. 

He and Kurt had stopped in front of and old and mildly run down looking apartment building, Kurt’s apartment building, a typically silent street, not connected to any main avenues, or leading to any main points of the city, one of those miraculous streets that somehow managed to remain traffic free even during rush hour. At almost midnight, the street should have been empty except for a stray cat or two. It wasn’t.

The calm night and surprisingly clear sky were a decidedly anticlimactic setting for the ambush that took place. A small swarm of journalists and photographers seemed to materialized around them with a speed that was frankly terrifying given the hour and the fact that they had just been around a corpse. The taxi driver had been equally startled at the sudden downpour of people and, following the natural fight or flight response, he gunned the car and was gone within seconds. 

The next moment was a blur of lights and questions.

“Mr. Hummel!”

“Can you tell us about your work with the FBI?”

“Is there another victim?”

“Are you involved in the crime?”

Seriously? Was he involved in the crime? Were this people for real? Even if he had been involved in some way he wouldn’t just confess to a bunch of journalists. More accurately, Kurt wouldn’t have been able to say anything, the sudden throng of people pressed him from every angle and continued to shout questions right at his face.

Even though it was a cold mid-January night he had begun to feel hot and mildly suffocated, probably due to the abrupt invasion of his personal space, but he hadn’t actually panicked until a sudden shove had almost made him lose his footing and managed to separate him from Blaine. The short man appeared to vanish in the shadows that danced around the flashing lights of the cameras, or maybe they were just imprinted in his eyes. 

The night wind did little to carry the noise away from Kurt, however, the intensity of the questions and the constantly increasing volume did manage to blur the sound together into an indistinguishable mass. It was in no way less upsetting.

“Blaine!” Intellectually, Kurt knew that he was fine, he could just push past those people and into his apartment. He could imagine Blaine on the other side of the human wall trying to move close to him. Kurt could do all those things, except he really couldn’t. He couldn't think. “Blaine! Move! ... Don’t….” He couldn't breath.

Back when he was in high school and he was the weird gay kid that spoke to low or not at all some of the guys from the basketball team had decided to use him as the junior initiation. Not really his fondest memory but one that he hadn’t thought of in a while.

It was a yearly ritual for the new team members, whether they were going to be players or bench warmers, in which they chose a student for some sort of prank. When it was Kurt’s turn they had decided to be particularly cruel, he was, after all, the gay kid and if that wasn’t bad enough he was also the loner, the easily ignored and, more importantly, the one other students wouldn’t miss if he suddenly skipped a class or two.

Thursday night was the only day Kurt got out of school late since he had his weekly meeting with the Young Writers Club. Writing proved to be quite useful when it came to organizing the mess in his head, not that he had ever been particularly interested in pursuing the activity as anything more than a hobby, however, the school dictated that he had to join at least one club as extracurricular. And that was that. Thursday night was also the night the basketball team, which proved to be a very unfortunate coincidence. One that still caused him to wake up in a cold sweat at least once a month, maybe more.

Kurt Hummel didn't realize he had tripped over someone's foot, he did feel the many hands grabbing him, probably as a reflex, not that it mattered to him. There was pressure in his chest and voices in his head. 

Mr Hummel! 

Fucking faggot!

A question please!

Back to the closet to you!

Mr. Hummel!

“Blaine...”

“Get away from him!”

****  
“I spoke to Sebastian.” Blaine's voice hadn't been so soft since Kurt had called him about Burt's funeral. Screaming would have been preferable. 

Blaine not trying to force feed him hot soup would also be good. Kurt dropped carelessly on the white puffy couch and dropped his head on his hands. His voice was so muffled whatever was said got swallowed by the ambient noise of Blaine's apartment, a mixture of traffic, the still beeping microwave and the neighbour's TV. 

“He is going to run interference with the press and find he names of the people that jumped us.” He set the steaming bowl on the coffee table and knelt facing Kurt. Blaine ran his hands over Kurt knees where the mix of melted snow and dirt had caked a brown round layer, he tried to remove the worst of it with his sleeves. His friend had never been overly conscious about his clothing, he usually opted for dark clothes, shades of gray and brown or black, anything that would allow him to blend with the background, however, he was attentive to his state of cleanliness. “It's going to be fine .”

***

“Hummel said it was the same killer” 

The seventh floor of the bureau's building had risen bright and early, the clerks were running around delivering files and documents and the agents tipped away at their computers under the watchful eye of the Criminal Profiler Team. 

“Hello boss! Nice to see you too this fine morning, had a niche night? Mine was great.”

“Don't fuck with me today Puckerman.” So, it was one of those days then. Sebastian had been playing nice for almost a month, he was bound to grow bored of it and snap at them. There was actually a pool going about the office. One that Sam had just won. Great.

“All right then, no fucking about, look at me, officially not fucking.” Anticipating the impending screaming, Noah showed common sense and moved on. “Yes, that's what said, though he didn't come in to write the report, and he's not answering the phone. But you know that.” It was likely related to the sudden change of mood. “We haven't found any evidence to support that theory, but we are still running a background check on both victims. Hopefully we'll find a link.”

“Do that.” Twenty or so agents jumped in unison when the door to their commanding officer slammed violently enough to rattle the single picture hanging by the wall. Puck steadied it, just in case. The group photo was old and some of the agents were no longer to take another one should it need to be replaced.


End file.
